


Tales from Night Vale

by Voidspeaker (Cloudspun)



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 19:43:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/904133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloudspun/pseuds/Voidspeaker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of stories revolving around a young lady who has mysteriously appeared in Night Vale, and promptly joined our flawless host, Cecil, in his radio broadcasts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blessed Nightingale

**Author's Note:**

> I HAVE NOT listened to all of the podcasts yet. I was listening to the "weather" section of #10 - Feral Dogs as I posted this. So, I apologize for any deviations from proper canon in this first chapter.

He glanced at the new girl, then at the small switch that would put them both on air.

"Are you sure you’re ready for this, Miss? Not that I don’t appreciate being able to let the people know about interesting things, but the City council and the management might not appreciate the telling of this story."

"I’m fully aware of the consequences, sir, but… I’m not afraid. I’ve seen weirder than the things you’ve described on prior shows, and I’ve a friend with me whether you can see him or not." She affirmed softly, placing her right hand on her left shoulder, as if it were resting on someone else’s.

"If you’re sure, then. I’m positive that Carlos will want to talk to you later, he’ll be delighted with the chance to investigate the circumstances surrounding your arrival." He flicked the switch, easily sliding back into reporter-mode.

"Welcome, and welcome back, dear listeners! We’ve been given a delightful treat today. For those of you who did not know, Night Vale gained a new citizen last night. A young lady, who mysteriously appeared over near the Car Lot. Her name is Nightingale, and she has reportedly seen dear Old Woman Josie’s angels. Miss Gale, would you tell us what happened last night? Where did you come from, and what, do you think, caused you to cease being there and start being here?"

He silently turned the microphone to her, giving her his best estimation of a supportive smile. She said something so quietly that he couldn’t understand, and he gestured for her to speak up.

"I… I am hesitant to speak of some pieces of that story, for fear of violating some law or another, due to my being so terribly new here. However, I am able to confidently say that I was, in a way, expecting to appear somewhere I had never been before. There was a humming and a flash of light, suddenly I was standing in the silence of a dark car lot. There was…" Nightingale trailed off, glancing at him questioningly. Cecil nodded.

"There was a hooded character, taller than any person I’ve met before. I accidentally stared, and was frozen by an unnamed emotion. The hooded figure started to hiss static at me, and started to approach. There was a flash, and a-" she cut off, placing her hand on her shoulder again, glancing at the air just behind her on her left side. She nodded. “A tall figure, black skinned yet glowing like a firefly, wings extending from his shoulders and eyes covering most of his visible skin materialized between the hooded figure and I, and seemed to force the figure back with his will. He turned to me, and took me by the shoulder, directing me away to a small shack. The little old woman living there took me in without a question, and… well, here I am now." She shrugged, saying nothing more. Cecil sighed, quickly finding a few questions to try and keep listeners’ interest.

"You say he took your by the shoulder. What did that feel like, if I may ask?"

She gave him a silent smile and chuckle, then sighed. “It was like… oh, what’s a good way to describe… it was like the sensation you get when you step on warm concrete after spending a long time in a cold building. It was a burning sensation, but he didn’t actually hurt me. He just… wanted to keep me safe."

"Amazing! Well, listeners, you heard it here first. And now for a brief announcement from the Sheriff’s Secret Police…"

After the broadcast was over, Cecil released a sigh, feeling like a weight was gone from his shoulders. He glanced at the door of the Management’s office, and, seeing, no letter nor any piece of paper whatsoever, let out a soft laugh.

"Seems your story is going out snag-free, Miss." He said, turning back to the young lady.

"Not as snag free as you may think…" She murmured in reply, a trace of fear in her voice.

"What’s wrong?"

"There’s static in the air… I don’t think the hooded ones are happy with us. Maybe you should go home… or go stay at a friend’s house. I think I need to get back to Miss Josie; she might need some non-angelic help." Nightingale suggested, rising. Cecil nodded, startled as he realized there was, indeed, a trace of static in the air. He gathered up his coat and personal items, then went to the door. He found Nightingale talking to air, and paused.

"Go with him, friend. Make sure he gets wherever he needs to go safely; I’ll be ok, I can run pretty fast. Yes, I promise I’ll go straight to Josie’s house." She looked over at Cecil, them smiled.

"My friend will make sure you get where you’re going. The hooded beings won’t follow you inside of any buildings, so you’ll be ok as long as you don’t stop anywhere. Thank you for giving me the chance to talk…"

He nodded. “Come back again, if you wish. It was memorable."

They stepped outside, and Cecil watched as the youth took off at a sprint towards the Car Lot. He shook his head, then took off at a quick walk towards the science lab, his head down and his heart somewhat steady, a sensation on his left shoulder similar to hot concrete against his bare feet after spending a day in a cold building putting a smile on his face.


	2. The Singing Intern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So.... Nightingale is properly seated in Night Vale. But... you need to work so you can eat, right? And, since she already knows him, it makes sense she'd go to Cecil first, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, there will NOT be any CecilxOC shipping.  
> Still haven't caught up. Working on it.  
> On episode 18 now.

She walked towards the radio studio hesitantly, gnawing on her lower lip. Her sandals thumped across the asphalt, accompanied by the solid tapping of her walking stick and the slight humming emitted by the radiant being next to her.

"I hope they don’t mind…" she murmured. The dark-skinned guardian reached over and squeezed her shoulder gently. She winced, the smiled at the many-eyed figure.

"I’ll be ok, I think. This is my nicest clothing, so… hopefully he’ll be able to help me get a spot." She murmured, smoothing her soft green overshirt and the carefully-mended hip-scarf, then straightening the cuffs on her jeans with the heels of her soft leather boots. She walked up to the door, then took a steadying breath, before opening the door and walking in.

Soft chatter greeted her, echoing from the breakroom. She figited with her shirt one last time, then walked over and knocked hesitantly on the doorframe.

The chatter ceased instantly, replaced by a terrifying silence. She tensed, and felt the guardian’s hand tighten on her shoulder.

"Hello? I’m looking for someone who can give me a job. It’s Nightingale, from the newscast a couple of weeks ago?"

A soft, relieved sigh hissed out of the dark room.

"Ah, Miss Gale. Please, come in." Cecil’s smooth voice drifted out, and Nightingale stepped into the room. She blinked in the dimness, waiting for her eyes to adjust, then focused on the shadow she believed to be the famed “Voice of Night Vale".

"Are you hiring, do you know? I feel horrible for living off of Miss Josie’s charity, even though she says it’s fine… I can’t afford a flat in my current state, and I… I’d rather work with people I know. I haven’t really checked anywhere else."

Cecil glanced at the two interns, then hesitantly stood and looked down the hall at the door.

"DO WE HAVE ROOM FOR ANOTHER INTERN OR EMPLOYEE?" He shouted at the door. There was a pause, before an unmarked envelope slipped out of the small slot. Cecil gestured for one of the interns to go fetch it. When the intern handed it back to him, he quickly opened it and stared at the message within.

Nightingale waited, bouncing on her heels uncertainly. She saw nameless emotions flash across the newscaster’s face, but remained silent. After about five or six minutes of tense silence, Cecil looked up at her.

"How is your singing?" He asked, fixing her in his gaze. She flinched, then glanced away.

"Fair enough, I suppose, why?"

"The management says there is a radio slot open in the mornings for a songbird."

She rolled back on her heels, thinking carefully. “Well… if you want I can give you a demo of my singing…" She offered hesitantly. Cecil’s expression brightened.

"Oh, that would be lovely! I need someone to sing for the weather anyway, all of my tracks seem to have disappeared for the evening!"

—-

Time passed quickly. Cecil had said he needed a melancholy song for the evening, so Nightingale was carefully reciting the words to an old song she’d learned what felt like ages ago. She saw him cue her from the corner of her eye, and started to sing without hesitation.

“Lo yisa goi el goi che-rev, lo yil-m’-du od mil-cha-mah…" It was an old Hebrew song, simple enough to perform, at least until the point came where a second person or part was supposed to come in and echo. But, Nightingale thought, it was easy enough to split her voice between the two.

After her song was over (and it had had her singing in three parts, which was a bit of a feat for her.) she sat back with a sigh, gladly listening as the Voice of Night Vale continued with his show. He gave her a thumbs-up as he talked, and she smiled.

She had a job, her future was looking rather secure


	3. Self-Sufficiency, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps Night Vale isn't as unique as some thought? Perhaps Nightingale came from a similar place, and her knowledge gives her a better means of existing in the "strange" town?  
> Perhaps there is more to this town than meets the eye?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a two-parter; The first chapter will set up the second, and _yes_ I've caught up in the series. hopefully I'll have the second chapter posted soon.

She closed her door, kicking her heels off with a sigh of relief. Setting her walking stick next to the coat-closet, she padded into her small flat and over to the kitchenette with the thought of hot chocolate and marshmallows floating through her mind; lights glittered in her window, of the Glow Cloud drifting overhead and the lights above the Arby's sign blinking in incoherent patterns. She flicked on her computer and clicked over to "Radioactive" on her music player, her entire body relaxing as the base dropped on the song. One of the reasons she'd chosen this flat was the guaranteed soundproof walls, so she could crank her music up without disturbing anyone else in the building. Her voice rose with the chorus as the pulsing music filled her mind, her soul, the base throbbing with her heartbeat. Her body began moving in a strange rhythm, her mind blinded to the world around her as she danced.

Until she heard the door open.

In an instant, the music was off, the milk was heating, and she was hovering at the archway between the kitchen and the living area. She cleared her throat, eyeing the large male figure standing in her door.

"Oh dear... either this isn't my flat or someone else has decided to make themselves at home...." The man muttered. Nightingale's eyes widened.

"Cecil?!"

Purple eyes snapped up to meet her own gray ones; she found herself distracted by the suddenly open third-eye on his forehead, as well as the multitude of smaller eyes visibly peeking out from under his rolled-up shirt sleeves.

"Miss Gale! Are you in my flat, or have I gotten the wrong floor again?" He asked, his expression relaxing from surprise to minor amusement.

"You've the wrong floor, I do believe. I've been living here since I got my first month's wages. But, since you're here, would you like some cocoa?" Nightingale smiled, her grip on the kitchen knife she held behind her back loosening slightly. Cecil nodded.

"Cocoa would be lovely, though I need to get to my apartment and change; Carlos asked if I would accompany him to investigate some sort of phenomenon, then to dinner, so... maybe next time?" Cecil's face grew vacant, his eyes shining slightly. _Lovestruck._ Nightingale thought. She nodded, smiling.

"Understood, sir. I won't keep you, then."  She backed into the kitchen, placing the knife in easy reach as she returned to monitoring the milk as it heated; she heard Cecil leave, shutting the door behind him, and sighed in relief.

 

A few minutes later, she poured the hot chocolate into a large mug and returned to her computer, cranking the music up again. A thought crossed her mind, and she stood and walked over to her pantry. She'd bought an extra container of salt earlier that afternoon and had completely forgotten about it; best to put that measure in place before something a little less friendly than her new boss decided to pop in for a bite. She opened the canister and carefully ran a line of salt across each windowsill and across the threshold of her front door, murmuring a warding spell as she did so.

"I'll put in more permanent measures later." She sighed, nodding.

\---

More permanent measures turned out to be a thick string of crystallized salt tucked under the new welcome mat, and a sigil painted in holy water on each portal into her home. She'd gotten her angel-friend to bless the water she'd gotten from a spring just outside of town, and had carefully stowed it in a safe place once the sigils were painted. Her steampunk-tarot came out of its box in her backpack and found a home on her coffee table (which was made from scrap wood she'd found outside of the apartment building), and she carefully warded the entirety of her new home, taking suggestions from Grandma Josie (as she'd taken to calling the old woman) and the angels that had accompanied the kind old lady to her apartment. Her friend among the winged beings had offered to stay with her, indicating that he (she thought it was a he, but she wasn't sure) would be able to keep the hooded ones out if other measures failed. She'd considered it, glancing at the other angels for opinions, and had decided that her friend could go where he wanted.

"It's not my place to decide where you go or who you choose to stay with. I don't mind you being here, as a matter of fact it's nice to know I'm not completely alone here except for the faceless old lady that apparently haunts everyone, but it's your decision." She'd said. The Angel (Who Grandma josie had called "Erika" but Nightingale had preferred to call Kharon) had promptly transferred his "residency mark" to her home and laid claim to a spot next to her computer.

\---

Cecil returned the day after she warded the house, bringing Carlos with him and reminding her of her promise of cocoa, which she had fulfilled with a laugh. Meeting the infamous scientist had been rather unnerving for her; she'd expected someone more stuck-up and rigid, not the relaxed, accepting dark-skinned man who now sat next to her boss, sipping cocoa and contentedly listening to the music she was playing in the background.

"This is excellent! Best cocoa I've had in ages." Cecil stated loudly, startling Nightingale from her thoughts. She smiled, nodding, and quietly indicated to Kharon that there was still some left if he wanted any. The many-eyed being appeared to smile, shaking his head and relaxing in the egg-chair he'd conjured for himself.

"I'll agree with that; where did you get the recipe?" Carlos added, turning inquisitive eyes to Nightingale. She stuttered, trying to think.

"I... I don't really recall where I found it, probably in some book somewhere before I moved here." She laughed, shifting in the massive beanbag she'd claimed. Both men shrugged, chattering idly.

 

She saw Kharon sit bolt-upright before she heard it. A massive thud rattled her door, followed by a pained, evil shriek. Cecil froze as Carlos startled.

"What the-" Carlos started before Cecil clapped his hand across the scientist's mouth. Nightingale rose from her seat, keeping her eyes on the door as she signalled for both of her guests to remain silent. In her peripheral vision, she saw Kharon manifest his true guise, but motioned for him to wait a moment. She quickly ducked into her room, snatching up the chalk and container of salt she kept on her nightstand. Darting back out into the living room, she crouched in front of the door and sketched a demon-trap sigil; another, thicker salt barrier across the floor between the entryway and the the den completed her defenses, and she snatched her staff as the door burst open.

A huge hooded figure loomed over her, bony hands curled in pain and the hem of its black robe smouldering. It snarled at her, driving her back a step in fear.

"Be gone! You've no place here!" Cecil snapped, rising to his full six and a half feet of height. Kharon keened from behind him, and he nodded.

"What he said." Carlos growled, putting his back to the wall. The hooded figure stepped forward, and screeched as the sigil blazed under its feet, rendering it into a palm-sized black stone.

Nightingale watched it carefully, waiting to see if the figure could break out of the seal. After about thirteen minutes, she hesitantly flicked the stone back out the front door with the tip of her staff, then closed the door. She felt two sets of human and one group of nonhuman eyes boring holes into her back, and sighed.

"We had a bit of a demon infestation where I come from. Either the residents learned to coexist or assert themselves, or they disappeared and the pile of bones at the center of town got bigger." She explained simply, walking back to the beanbag chair. Carlos glanced at the salt lining the threshold of the room, then back at her, before sitting down stiffly. Kharon rumbled and returned to his seat, his presence fading back into the casual almost-human form he chose to take around mortals.

"What the hell." Cecil hissed, every eye he had (both his human ones and the multitudes he had tattooed on the visible portions of his skin) focused on Nightingale. She shifted uncomfortably, then glanced at the clock.

"Oh, heavens... It's almost curfew. You guys might want to run, unless Carlos is staying the night with you, Sir. I'll get the mugs, you go on ahead." She stood and gathered up the dishes, hearing Cecil growl behind her as she scuttled into the kitchen.

"She's right, Cecil... we'd better scoot." Carlos commented quietly. She heard Cecil grumble, but also heard him cross to the front door.

"See you in the morning, then, Gale. Bright and early, remember!" The radio-host called as he stepped across the threshold.

She relaxed once the door snapped shut. Kharon chittered at her softly, concerned, but she shook her head.

"I'd rather not talk about it, friend..." She murmured, pouring the last mugful of cocoa. "You sure you don't want this?"

He crooned softly, assuring her.

"So be it... perhaps it'll settle my nerves."


	4. Self-Sufficiency Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fear paralyzes, induces stress, and causes misfortune. Perhaps breaking that is the first step to bringing Night Vale into a better state? Nightingale certainly isn't afraid of standing out anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is focusing more and more on Nightingale, and adds a few of my personal headcanons. For whatever reason, fanfics seem to do that when it's me writing them.  
> Also, I don't have any access to a set of _known_ laws for Night Vale, so i'm just going with what I know.  
>  And I'm still caught up. Waiting eagerly for the next podcast.

She wasn't looking forward to seeing Cecil again; she liked him well enough, but she didn't want to answer the questions she knew he'd have. Demons were hard enough to deal with, much less explain to people who weren't supposed to know anything of them. But.... he was her boss, it was next to impossible not to see him when she worked.

Her song was a bit melancholy the next morning; she'd had nightmares of living mannequins and even Kharon's soothing chitter hadn't helped. She was tired, she was stressed, and worst of all she was afraid. Were there bone piles in Night Vale as well? Perhaps they were hidden in the ever-forbidden Dog Park? Did Carlos or cecil know anything about the other "LV426" settlements?

"Do you need a day off, Gale?"

She outright jerked away from the hand that rested delicately on her shoulder, startling Cecil nearly as bad as he'd startled her.

"S-sorry, sir... N-no, sir, I'll be ok. I need to work, I need to focus on this or I'll be dwelling on dark things all day." She mumbled, putting her head in her hands. She heard the toffee-haired Slenderman-lookalike sigh, felt her makeshift desk shift as he rested his weight on it, then heard the chair next to her creak as he sat down..

"First off, stop calling me "sir". We're co-workers, and it makes me feel ancient. Secondly, something is obviously bothering you, and as your neighbor, co-worker, and the one who helped you get this job, I'm allowed to be concerned for your well-being. Third, I don't want you to get shipped off and retaught because something, either whatever happened yesterday or something else that you haven't mentioned yet, is making you stand out. There's a wildness, an untameable air about you that I haven't seen in a long time, and it strikes me with both joy and terror; I don't want that taken from you. Fourth, whatever is bothering you is putting all of your tunes in a minor key, and I think it's irritating the Station Management." His words were soft, almost a whisper, as he spoke. "Intern Rodriguez and I are going to go get some pizza at Big Rico's. Why don't you come with us? Get out of the booth, get some sunshine and relax. Alright?"

She nodded, shakily rising from her seat and returning to the mike. She changed the music over to an instrumental mix, something lively enough to keep the world rolling while she was gone. She slid her light jacket on, picked up her walking stick, and nodded as Cecil stood, answering him before he could ask.

"Let's go, then."

 

The pizza was alright, for its lack of wheat and gluten. She'd gone for a couple cheese-slices, sitting quietly as Cecil chattered away with Rodriguez and, when he arrived, Carlos, even moving over so that the intern wouldn't have to give the shorter dark-skinned scientist his seat.

She felt Cecil's worried glances as he spoke with Carlos, even heard him ask the scientist if there had been anything unusual popping up in any of Carlos's more recent studies. Carlos had only offered that nightmares were growing more common, though people often didn't consider them as such.

Her stomach clenched, and she fought not to gag on the last bit of her pizza. Quickly, she tapped a message to Cecil, telling him she suddenly didn't feel well, and, yes, she needed to return home. She rose quickly, offering an apology and excusing herself from the table.

\---

Kharon had been gone when she got back to her apartment, though the insistent churning of her stomach worried her more than the angel's absence. She barricaded herself in the restroom, pressing face, hands, and stomach against cold porcelain and tile. The touch of cold undid her restraint, sending pizza remains, the morning's cereal, and what little else was in her stomach lurching into the commode. Chasing the last bits of foodstuffs with bile, she coughed and choked, yacking up a swallow of the cocoa she'd drunk right before bed the previous night.

She rinsed her mouth, felt her phone buzz, and saw a text from Grandma Josie asking if she needed anything while the old woman was out and about.

"7-UP AND TOWNHOUSE/RITZ CRACKERS. NOT FEELING GOOD. AM HOME AND ILL, FAIR WARNING." She sighed, grimacing as her stomach writhed and gurgled unhappily.

She retched three times more before the kind old lady arrived, the last time found Kharon holding her hair back out of her face (Much good that it did, though that was a little less mess she'd have to clean out of her silver-gold mane later.) and rubbing her back, trying to sooth her with gentle chitters and thrums. Grandma Josie had heard her retching from the door, had shooed the angel from the room and helped her clean up herself and the restroom.

"Was it sudden, dearie, or have you not been feeling good all day?" the gray-maned old lady asked.

"Sudden. Very, very sudden."

"Stressed?" Josie demanded gently. Nightingale nodded.

"Erika said you was havin' nightmares last night, to the point he couldn't sleep for worrying 'bout you. Also said you had a hooded visitor."

"Did he, now? Well, good thing he thought to say something..." Nightingale coughed again, whimpering out of pain.

"Shh, enough talkin. You need sleep, dearie, I'll stay for a little while and make sure you're sichiated."

\---

She woke up on her couch a few hours later, feeling watched. She blinked blearily, focused more on breathing without throwing up, then recognized Kharon's soft conversational chitter. Forcing her eyes to focus, she recognized Cecil, who was talking to the angel in hushed tones, then saw Carlos sitting in her beanbag chair reading something.

"T-time's it?"

"An hour before curfew. You had me worried, Nightingale. We got here just as Josie left, she said you'd been very, very ill since you'd gotten home. Mind telling us what's wrong?"

"Stomach bug, probably..." Carlos offered, giving her a pitying look. She nodded, sitting up slowly.

"Stress caught me, that's all. I'll be fine, I just need a few days to get on my feet again."

\---A few days ended up with a notice of her newly-unemployed status in the mail. Stress was nothing, next to that.

Nightingale sighed, shaking her head and picking through the rest of the envelopes. A purple-dusted card at the back caught her attention, merely reading "We will take care of everything. Your place is in Night Vale, and in Night Vale you will stay until further notice."

She growled, recognizing the handwriting from a similar card she'd received the morning before she first arrived in her new home.

"So much for being self-sufficient. Looks like being sweet and playing chameleon isn't gonna cut it anymore." She hissed, shaking her head. She tossed the card onto her coffee table, pulling on her sneakers and picking up her staff. "You want to come along, Kharon? I'm heading over to one of the abandoned buildings. Grandma asked me to look into it and see if it's viable for refurbishing and turning into some form of business."

The angel nodded, pulling his heather-white hood up over his face and pulling his wings in against his back. He strode across the room, following as she made her way outside and over to the abandoned shop on the edge of town.

It was a quiet walk, but everyone avoided her to the point of crossing to the other side of the street when she approached. It annoyed her, sure, but oh well. People did the same thing in the Black Plains outpost, but, then, people avoided everyone there. She shook her head, squaring her shoulders under the blazing desert sun.

\---

The abandoned shop was, sure enough, run down and looked dangerously unstable, but Nightingale found herself drawn to it (in a good way, mind) the moment she laid eyes on it. Josie was standing at the boarded-up entrance, the dark-bodied angel at her side as always.

"What were you thinking, Grandma? Coffeeshop, bookstore, bakery, what?" Nightingale called, reaching back and tugging on her ponytail, before flipping it a couple of times.

"Why not combine 'em all? There's a li'll kitchen inside, an' display cases ain't that hard to come by." The old lady smiled a half-toothless smile. Nightingale returned the grin, then stretched her shoulders and back.

"Shall we pull the boards off, then? Or should I get some hardware and such before we start? Also, who owns this place?"

"I do; me 'n my kiddo ran it a long time ago, 'fore he disappeared. An' yew might wan' some hardware; the celin's pretty unstable. Also might want to wait until after curfew a'fore ye start refurbishin', surprise people when they wake up tomorrow. Them secret po-leece ain't gonna hurt a li'l ol' lady like me, naw yew if ye'r with me. Now, gee' on home, I'll come git yeh when it's time to start." Josie made a shooing motion, and Nightingale nodded. turning, she walked back to the town, heading for the one place she knew she could get the hardware she needed. Kharon cooed softly, and she chuckled.

"This is gonna be fun, my friend. As for what we're going to sell, well… I think this town needs some confidence against the darkness, along with some alternate eating choices." she murmured the last bit, an old tune infecting her mind and triggering her to sway her hips and shoulders as she walked, the dance barely contained by her focus.

\---

She arrived home with the necessary items, and found Cecil standing at her door, knocking, then awkwardly waiting, then knocking again.

"I'm right here, sir." she said with a grin; the tall man jolted around, his skin dropping at least five shades closer to white.

"Ah! M-Miss Gale… I thought I told you not to call me sir?" Cecil stumbled, apparently shaken. Nightingale just smiled a smile the Cheshire Cat would be proud of, then chuckled.

"I'll stop calling you "sir" when you stop calling me "miss," alright?" She offered, walking over to her door and unlocking it.

"Alright… anyway, Gale… I was sent with a message. Whatever you're planning, some members of the Council doesn't like it, not one bit, because the hooded figures seem to be quite agitated by it. I'm not so sure you should continue on-"

"I learned not to live in fear of the unknown, rather to go to it and discover what it really is. The hooded ones cause harm if we aren't careful, as do any authority figures, and people shouldn't have to walk on eggshells. Books aren't read, lives are filled with black and white and purple, when every color under the burning sun should be available to these people. Individual thought is persecuted, and I refuse to live under the tyranny of a hive-mind. I believe I was sent here for good reason, whatever it may be. I don't know what it is, so I'm going with my gut-instinct." She popped the door open, turning a brilliant smile to him. "Go ahead and report that tomorrow. I'm not afraid, I've a few aces up my sleeve yet." A laugh echoed in the hallway as she closed the door behind herself and Kharon.


	5. Progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Radio hosting seems to not be in Nightingale's future. Well, not anymore. But... there is still her main love, entrepreneurship. Mainly, a little shop Grandma Josie owns that's outside of city limits and not under the understood bans.

The tiny bell rang softly as the door creaked open.

"Good morning!" Nightingale called cheerily, grey eyes almost silvery in the cool light of the newly-opened shop. A young woman glanced around, before approaching.

"Good morning… I heard something whisper a rumour about fresh danishes?"

"Yes! What kind can I get you?"

"D-do… you have cherry?"

Nightingale nodded, a broad smile on her face. "How many?"

"T-two, please." The woman held out a fiver and Gale nodded. She ducked behind the counter, opening the display (which she still needed to find a glass pane for, so it could be a proper display and not an oddly-shaped cabinet) and pulling out two of the pastries.

"Do you want some coffee or tea to go with?" She asked the woman, tucking the warm pastries delicately into a bag.

"No, no thank you…"

"Then your total is three-forty-five, out of five…" She trailed off, taking the five and giving the woman her change. The customer nodded, taking her bag and darting out into the dawning day. She saw a tall figure open the door, stepping in and holding it for the woman as she fled.

"Good morning, Cecil. Coffee and a biscuit?" Nightingale hummed, not looking up.

"I thought I was the psychic one?" The Voice of Nightvale chuckled; Gale smiled, shaking her head. She'd called him on his mental abilities when he'd reported on something before a messenger had even gotten to him, and he'd only smiled and nodded.

"It's what your scientist friend asked for. He rushed in about five minutes after we opened, panicked because he needed to be out where the harbor supposedly was, and asked for the fastest thing I could give him. Apparently he likes coffee with his sugar; good hearts are like that." She commented offhandedly, eyeing the rather large box of books that she had yet to put on display.

"Well, then, how do you think I like my coffee?" Cecil purred. Gale quirked an eyebrow at him, carefully scanning his face.

"Um, I watched him put the sugar in his coffee, my friend. I'm not psychic."

"Still."

She growled, glaring at him as she poured the mug of coffee. An idea struck her, and she measured sugar into the cup, squirting a pile of whipped cream an inch high on top of the still-steaming coffee.

"Biscuit, danish, donut, what? Coffee isn't enough to run on this early." She sat the cup in front of him, crossing her arms and setting into her 'not-budging-one-inch' stance.

"You seem to be running quite well. Do you have bagels, per chance?"

"I don't drink the stuff, preffering tea or cocoa, and I might. You have to trust me to top it, though." she gained a wry smile; Cecil nodded, and walked over to the small nook she'd thrown together last night before running home. He sat down with his back to her, and she ducked back behind her counter, deciding to give him a taste of New York, Jewish style.

\---

He eyed the bagel apprehensively, as she sat it in front of him. She sat down with her own bagel and a cup of tea, fighting not to smile at his apprehension.

"You realize they banned wheat and wheat byproducts, right?" Cecil mumbled, looking from the bagel to her and back again.

"Hard to make a bagel without flour or gluten, and we're outside of town." she responded casually. Cecil shrugged, picking up the everything bagel and taking an overly large bite.

He proceeded to choke, startled, then chewed and swallowed the tough bread.

"This is-"

"Everything Bagels with Lox." Gale cut him off with a smile. "It's about as Jewish of a breakfast as you can get." She choked down a laugh at his horrified face. "Dem Cecils does not like da fishies. Gotcha."

"It's not that I don't like them… just… why Jewish, of all things?" He asked, taking a sip of coffee. Nightingale gave him her best impression of a _look_ , and he blinked.

"What are you- Oh. OH. I understand. That's why there isn't a smell of bacon." He shook his head, biting into the bagel again.

"Precisely." Nightingale replied, sipping her tea. "Also why I won't sell cheeseburgers and such unless some crazy person wants feta."

"You realize there are likely regulations about Jews, right?" Cecil cocked his eyebrow at her, and she smiled innocently.

" _The Government shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof._ " She quoted, and Cecil nodded with a smile.

"I was testing you, Gale. The City Council would have a riot on their hands if they tried such a thing. I wasn't aware you were a Jew." He reached over and poked her in the forehead.

"Technically? I'm not. I just eat like one." She replied, smacking his hand away. "I'm… more Wiccan, than anything. Thus the knowledge on demons and wards."

"The hooded figures aren't demons, Nightingale." Cecil growled, a scolding note in his voice.

"Yet they react like a demon to traps and barriers. They break through said barriers and an alarmingly faster rate, but they still react the same way." She responded dryly. Cecil sighed, picking up the remaining bit of his bagel and standing.

"I'd better head on… need to keep an eye on the interns so they don't go vanishing without a good reason again."

"Have a good day, mein freund." Nightingale called softly, watching the radio host stalk out the door. Standing, she took her tea back behind the counter, sitting down and picking up her own worn copy of _1001 Demons, 1002 Ways to Contain Them_. She'd picked the book up when she'd been a bit smaller and less nervous… odd, how useful it had been to her since then. She'd memorized the simpler wards and such very quickly, once her caretaker had vanished.

The door chimed and the floorboards squeaked in protestation, snapping her from her revier. She sighed, seeing a burly figure swaddled head-to-toe in blue.

"I've already told one of yours, sir. We're outside of the City, therefore outside of the Council's jurisdiction." She said firmly, _respectfully_.

"I'm not here for that." A voice with a thick Bostonian accent responded, "I'm here to purchase a doughnut, and maybe ask about getting a copy of that book on your counter for my own."

Nightingale blinked. Every other secret policeman had been snide to the point of being rude in saying the business should not be there. The idea that maybe, just maybe, there was someone with similar fears as her among the collection was ludicrous… yet…

A $20 bill was suddenly sitting on her counter. She snapped out of her thoughts, blinking furiously.

"One doughnut, coming right up. Would you like coffee with that?" She rattled out automatically.

"Please. Two packets' worth of sugar, otherwise plain. About that book?" The man in blue encouraged.

"I've a few right here… wasn't sure if I'd get more flack for offering them, and since we don't have much else to offer yet I didn't want to give people instructions to use something they might not have." She shook her head, smiling softly. The Policeman nodded, giving her the impression of a smile.

"Keep the change, Miss. You might just be helping to make Night Vale a safer place."


End file.
